


Wasted chances

by ylc



Series: Pointless [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (sort of) unrequited love, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Companion Piece, Gen, M/M, Pining, Sad, implied past johnlock, implied past mpreg, recent breakup, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know what you had until you’ve lost it</p><p> </p><p>This is a companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5673097/chapters/13840623">chapter 8 </a>of Pointless thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What we lost

**Author's Note:**

> I’m… a little worried about where the main fic is heading. I meant to write a romance and I somehow managed to over complicate the plot in a ridiculous fashion. Not sure how that happened… but well, now I need to write quite a few more companion pieces, because I feel I’m missing quite a lot otherwise.  
> Maybe I should just write one companion piece that runs entirely from Sherlock’s POV. But there are a couple of scenes that I’m not sure I can bring myself to write so… well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.  
> So, in the meantime and without further ado, enjoy?

Greg watches Sherlock storm back into his room, slamming the door behind him. The guard sighs and waits for the Prince to be done with his temper fit, his eyes fixed on the book he has been pretending to read ever since the younger man left the room after receiving the news.

Sherlock paces around the room, huffing and cursing under his breath, whispering all sort of horrible things about his brother. Although right now Greg is inclined to agree with Sherlock’s view of the older Prince, a part of him argues he should say something.

“Sherlock-” he tries, unsure of what exactly he can say and the younger male turns to him, glaring darkly. Once more, Greg sighs. “Calm down. You-”

“Don’t tell me calm down!” Sherlock exclaims, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Don’t you dare to tell me to calm down! I can’t! In fact, I don’t see how you took the news so calmly!”

Greg takes a deep breath, willing himself to stop his own emotions from showing. “Sherlock, it’s perfectly understandable-”

“Is it?” the Prince exclaims, stepping into his personal space and making Greg gulp. “Is it perfectly understandable that he just decided to _discard_ you as a piece of garbage?”

The guard closes his eyes briefly, fighting back his hurt, knowing it won’t be a good idea to let Sherlock know how affected he is by Mycroft’s callous dismissal. “No. But- I do understand why he’s doing it.”

Sherlock huffs, going back to pacing and cursing his brother. Greg looks up, staring at the ceiling and willing his tears not to fall. He should go to his own rooms, really; he needs some time alone to process what has happened and allow himself to _feel_.

But Sherlock is too distressed and it’s just too out of character for him to _care_ so much about other people emotions that- “Why are you so angry on my behalf, anyway?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the pain.

The Prince stops dead on his tracks then, clenching his fists, a look of utter pain on his face. Greg frowns, confused and takes a step closer to his new charge, unsure of what to do. “Sherlock?”

The other male takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is a broken murmur that makes Greg ache for him. “Do you have any idea of what I would do to be with John again? And I don’t mean- I don’t mean intimately. Just- just see him again. To be able to be near him once more, to at least be friends-” he interrupts himself, an ugly sob making its way past his lips. “And my brother- god, how can he-?” he turns to Greg then, a haunted look on his eyes, “how can he renounce to that?”

“Oh, Sherlock” Greg whispers, pulling the younger man into his arms, holding him close. Sherlock’s body shakes with each suppressed sob, the Prince making an herculean effort not to show how much he’s hurting. Greg just holds him silently, rubbing circles over his back, willing him to calm down.

“He’s an idiot” Sherlock whispers against his neck, “you deserve so much better.”

Greg laughs brokenly, because god, when did his life turn into this? And since when does Sherlock offer empty consolations to broken hearted people? “It'll be fine” the guard whispers back, squeezing him tighter. “It’ll get better.”

Sherlock huffs, pulling away. “No, it won’t” he tells him darkly and then proceeds to plop onto his bed. “You’re dismissed, Lestrade. Good night.”

Greg sighs, running a hand through his short hair and wondering if leaving the young Prince alone is a good idea. In his mind, Sherlock is still the 7 years old boy he met a lifetime ago, who was always getting into trouble and that was far too alone.

“Good night, Sherlock” he says, turning to leave the room. “Rest well.”

Funny, how much love can hurt.

Funny, how precious memories can turn into torturing ones.

* * *

 

Later, Greg lies on bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what he’s going to do now.

A part of him always knew that things with Mycroft would come to an end. It was to be expected: Mycroft is a Prince, so their relationship was doomed from the very beginning.

They discussed that, didn’t they? That even if they both knew it wouldn’t last, they both wanted to take the risk for the chance of love. But- had it been love? Greg can’t help to doubt it. Mycroft had been so- detached. He had called things off so coldly, like it didn’t matter to him at all. He hadn’t even- he had pretty much kicked Greg out of his life, so maybe-

It doesn’t really matter, though. What’s done is done and there’s no way to change the past. All he can do now is try to move forward and hope the pain will eventually abate.

Deep down, he knows Sherlock is right: It will never get better.

It’s a daunting prospect.

But when you take risks, you must be ready to face consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be in two parts (maybe three?) that will get posted next week at most. They’re meant to fit between chapters 8 and 9 of the main fic, because there’s a bit of a big gap there. I’m writing as fast as I can, so hopefully all be ready very soon and I'll be adding tags as needed ;)  
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought!


	2. What we found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving up hope is not an easy task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t planning on updating so soon… but well, since I don’t really know what will happen at work next week, I figured it wouldn’t really do to keep on waiting.  
> So, without further ado, enjoy?

Greg wakes up the feeling of something hitting him square in the face. Having been a soldier for almost half of his life, he gets up immediately, ready for an attack. It wouldn’t be the first time that an enemy has tried to catch him off guard and although his eyes still feel heavy and his movements are a little slow, he feels confident of fighting his opponent off.

As it turns on, his mysterious attacker is a year and half old girl, who is peering at him curiously after he bolted out of bed.

“Abby” he whispers, dropping back on the bed, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “What’s up?”

“Hungwy” she informs him sleepily, her words half muffled by the pillow now that she has decided to lie down once more. On the other side of the bed he can hear Sherlock muttering something in his sleep and Greg sighs.

“Alright. Alright, wait here, yes?”

The girl nods, hurrying to curl next to her father once more, waiting for Greg to bring her some milk. The guard sighs once more and slips out of the room, careful not to make much noise so he won’t end up waking the Prince up.

As he slides through the empty corridors, he can’t help to reflect on how surreal the whole situation is. He knows that sleeping in Sherlock’s room and even worse, sharing bed with him is a crazy idea, but it has worked somehow. They reached this agreement back in the Castle, shortly after Mycroft pretty much kicked him out of his previous job. At first it seemed like the most practical solution: Sherlock was perpetually wired up, looking ready to snap and do something reckless at any given moment and spending the night with him seemed like the easiest way to make sure he wouldn’t end up doing something foolish.

Greg finds himself often wondering if Sherlock is ever going to get better. He copes better when Abigail is around, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s far from being fine. This degree of mourning can’t be healthy and Greg wonders if there’s something he can do to help.

The answer, he fears, it’s an absolute ‘no’.

He had suggested the trip back to the Palace when he had found Sherlock unconscious in a ditch at the gardens. The Prince won’t say what he was doing or how he ended up unconscious, but by the time Greg rescued him he had been cold as a corpse and he had ended up with a fever that threatened to take away his life.

He had hoped that seeing his daughter again would put a stop to his suicidal tendencies and while Mycroft hadn’t agreed, he had eventually relented due Sherlock constantly pestering him about it. Greg avoids dealing with the older Prince as much as he can, often going out of his way just to avoid running into him.

It’s far from ideal and not how he hoped things would go, but well…

He warms some milk at the kitchens, dismissing the maid that seems to appear out of nowhere, ready to offer her help. He pours the drink in a small cup and makes his way back to the Royal Chambers, his heart feeling heavy now.

Abigail has gone back to sleep, but Sherlock is awake now. The Prince has an arm curled around his daughter, a soft smile on his lips. Once more all servants have been dismissed from the Royal Wing, but if someone suspects anything amiss, they know better than to gossip about it.

The ‘official’ story of Abigail’s presence in the Palace  is that she was found in the woods by Molly, while she was out collecting herbs. The female Alpha had brought her in and of course Mrs. Hudson had insisted on taking care of her. It’s far too simplistic, really, but it seems to work. At least nobody seems overly curious about the girl’s parentage.

Greg offers Sherlock the cup, but the Prince ignores him as he usually does. The guard sighs and places the cup on the night table, before going back to his side of the bed. Sherlock observes him for a beat and opens his mouth to say something, but seems to think better of it and instead goes back to observing his daughter.

Greg supposes he could go to sleep in his own room. Sherlock is unlikely to do something foolish while he has his daughter with him, but the Beta must admit he has gotten used to the weight and warmth of the other male in the bed. It’s completely platonic, really, even if some mornings he wakes up to find his nose buried in the younger man’s curls. Sherlock never says anything and neither does Greg, so it works. Somewhat.

At the Castle, Greg is very careful to always leave the room early, before anyone can find them and he hasn’t abandoned that particularly habit even in here, although he suspects Mrs. Hudson knows exactly what he’s doing.

But he’s doing nothing wrong and so he tries very hard not to think much about it.

“Quiet” Sherlock orders, looking at him once more, narrowing his eyes.

“I haven’t said anything!” the guard protests and the younger male rolls his eyes.

“I can hear you thinking!” he hisses back. “Stop it. It’s no use.”

Greg rolls his eyes and turns around, so his back is facing Sherlock. The Prince huffs, but doesn’t say anything more and after a while Greg can feel his eyes closing on their own accord.

He lets sleep claim him back, comforted by the sound of Sherlock’s and Abby’s breathing next to him.

* * *

 

More often that not, Greg finds himself sitting at the gardens, watching Sherlock play with his daughter. It’s almost a surreal scene; one that Greg never thought he would witness in any case. Although logically he knows both Sherlock and Mycroft are meant to marry and have children, he could never actually picture either of them doing such thing. It just seems… like something they wouldn’t want to do.

But now that he sees Sherlock with Abby, it just feels natural for things to be that way. All that’s missing, he thinks, it’s John standing next to them, looking at them with both pride and deep affection.

Oh, John would have been such a proud parent. And he would have been so over the moon after finding out Sherlock was pregnant; he was the kind of Alpha who would have boasted about his good fortune to whoever would listen.

Greg himself has never thought much about children. He likes them well enough, he supposes, but since biologically he’s incapable of having them, he has never given the idea much thought. Although if he must be completely honest, he sometimes looks at Abigail and finds himself imagining other redheaded children, blue eyed too and far too serious for their own good.

He bites his lip. He wonders if Mycroft’s children will take after him or if they’ll inherit their Alpha parent’s looks. The thought weighs heavily in his mind, so he hurries to shake it off.

It’s something that will happen sooner or later, but it’s something he would much rather not be around to witness.

When Sherlock actually marries, he’s expected to leave for his Alpha’s home, which means Greg will be technically out of work. He’ll go back to being a general member of the Royal Guard, he guesses, but sometimes he thinks he’d rather leave instead. Maybe he’ll volunteer at the Northern Borders; fighting off threats to the Kingdom seems like a good way to die.

Better than to die of a broken heart, in any case.

“Are you alright?” Molly asks, startling him. He hadn’t noticed the female’s approach and he frowns, troubled by how distracted he was. The female smiles briefly, sitting next to him.

Mrs. Hudson tells him Molly is the one in charge of Abigail most of the time. The older woman claims she’s too tired to deal with such an energetic child and Abby certainly takes after her Omega father in that reward: she’s terribly curious and completely tireless.

With Sherlock here, Molly is probably without much to do. Greg can somewhat relate, seeing he doesn’t have much to do either. “I’m fine” he replies with a smile of his own that doesn’t feel entirely false. “Tired, but fine.”

Molly hums thoughtfully. “You look sad when you think no one can see you.”

Greg observes her for a beat, but Molly isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are glued to Sherlock, a wistful smile on her lips. Greg decides to ignore her comment, since he really doesn’t know what he ought to reply to that. “Sherlock says you had an embarrassing crush on him” he says instead, hoping to change subjects successfully.

Molly blushes prettily and turns to look at him. “Maybe” she confesses sheepishly. “He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

He is, Greg supposes. Not his type, certainly, but he can see why would people find Sherlock attractive.

They stay in silence for a long while. It’s not uncomfortable, so Greg doesn’t feel the need to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Molly throws her head back so the sun might hit her on the face. The wind musses her hair, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She has lovely hair, Greg thinks, although maybe he’s biased. He has a thing for redheads, apparently, even if Mycroft’s hair-

No, he’s most definitely not thinking about him.

Molly looks at him from the corner of her eye and offers him a shy smile. Something inside his chest constricts and he finds himself standing up abruptly, murmuring something about going to check on Mrs. Hudson.

Once back into the Palace he finds it easier to breath. His reaction is ridiculous, he knows, but-

God, what a mess he is.

* * *

 

“You and Molly seemed pretty cozy this afternoon” Sherlock accuses him in the middle of the dinner, almost making Greg choke on his food. He stares at the Prince for a long while, open mouthed, his brain having gone blank.

“What?” he asks finally and promptly regrets it when Sherlock rolls his eyes. Greg sighs, running a hand through his short hair. “Sherlock-”

“Are you sure entering a new relationship right now is a good idea?” the younger male asks, not looking at him, busy trying to feed Abigail. The baby squeals and pushes the spoon away, managing to create a mess and soil her father’s clothes.

“It’s not like that” Greg argues somewhat darkly. “We- we were just talking.”

Sherlock looks up, narrowing his eyes at him. Greg can tell he’s deducing the truth in his words and so he holds the Prince’s stare, knowing he has nothing to hide. Finally the Omega seems satisfied with what he has seen and turns his attention back to his daughter. “Good” he says, almost absent mindedly and Greg can’t help to roll his eyes.

Just what exactly does Sherlock think he’s doing? Even if- even if Greg was really interested in Molly-

“You were the one who said I deserved better” he reminds him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your brother was the one who so callously ended our relationship.”

Sherlock looks at him once more, his lips a thin line, showing his displeasure. Still, he doesn’t seem inclined to argue and so he looks back at Abigail, who is creating a bigger mess with her food.

Greg sighs. He’s really not interested in Molly like that.

But if he was, it’s nobody’s business but his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went a little away from me. I wasn’t planning for it to be so long, but well…  
> I really love writing Greg & Sherlock having this close, completely platonic relationship; if you’ve read some of my other fics, you know this. But I really don’t see it developing into anything else so… no Sherstrade, I’m afraid!  
> As for Molstrade… I don’t ship them. I really don’t. I see why people would, but I really don’t. And yet, I somehow always manage to imply something between them. Is this my subconscious trying to tell me something? (If that’s the case, shut up subconscious! Greg belongs with Mycroft and that’s final!)  
> Anyway… let me know what you thought? Also, I suppose I might as well ask here, should I tag other pairings in the main fic, even if they’re not meant to be endgame? I don’t think it’s a good idea but well… I don’t know.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. What we hope for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is a dangerous thing.  
> It always brings out our more reckless selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, when I started working in the main fic, I told myself that it going completely from Mycroft’s POV would make sure I didn’t end up writing a ridiculously long fic and once I was done with it, I could go back to write the things I should actually be writing.   
> Boy, has that plan backfired.   
> Anyway, enjoy?

A month. That’s how long Sherlock promised to stay at the Palace; not a day more he said. 

It’s been a month and a week and Greg expects to receive a summon any day now. Still, Sherlock looks happier and healthier now, so he’s in no terrible hurry to go back, particularly knowing how fragile the Prince’s well being is.

A pigeon arrives that afternoon. The Royal Family isn’t fond of that particular method of communication, preferring to send emissaries to deliver letters, but Greg recognizes the pigeon as one belonging to one Lady Anthea. 

He forces himself to reign his jealousy in. Lady Anthea has replaced him as the Crown Prince's’ personal guard and he hopes that’s the only thing she has replaced him as. The mere thought of Mycroft with someone else-

Jealousy is such an ugly feeling. He knows Mycroft is not one to sleep around; heck, he had been a virgin before-

But well, first time might be a bit tricky, but what follows-

He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, as punishment for even thinking such things. Even if that’s the case, he has no claim on the other man; he’s free to do as he wishes (well, within the parameters of what’s expected of a Prince, of course) and he knows that thinking like that will do nothing but hurt him.

He picks the letter and takes it straight to Sherlock, not particularly interested in its contents.

He feeds the pigeon while Sherlock reads, his brow furrowed the whole time. Greg tries to keep his mind blank, unwilling to let his thoughts wander back to his ex lover.

“We are expected back as soon as possible” Sherlock tells him, folding the letter neatly, the excessive care on such task betraying his frustration. “There’s some social function Mother won’t approve of me missing.”

Greg nods a bit stiffly. “Should we leave today?”

Sherlock observes him, contemplative. Greg waits, frowning a bit, wondering what’s going on inside his head. Finally, the younger male looks away and turns to gaze at his daughter, who is sitting on the floor, too busy playing to pay them any mind.

“I don’t think I can do this” Sherlock whispers very softly, almost brokenly. He kneels on the floor, running a hand through Abby’s messy curls. “I can’t- I can’t Lestrade.”

Ah. Well. That’s-

That’s not good?

“Sherlock, you must-”

“Don’t tell me what I must do!” the Prince exclaims, startling Abigail, who promptly begins crying. Sherlock hurries to pick her up, trying to calm her down with little success. The fact that he looks on the verge of tears himself probably isn’t helping either, Greg guesses.

The guard sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know why we can’t stay here” Greg tries to reason with him, even if he suspects it’s useless. “If we stay, eventually someone will come to fetch you and if someone finds out about Abby-”

“I know!” Sherlock yells again, which sends the baby into another crying fit. The teenager is crying in earnest now too, all pretense of holding himself together gone. “I know we can’t but I- I-” he clutches Abigail tight, probably a bit too tight. “I can’t leave her again.”

Greg bites his lip non too gently. The idea forming inside his head is a terrible one, a very dangerous one. And yet-

“Do you- do you want to take her with us?”

“What?” Sherlock questions sharply, turning his whole attention back to him. It’s a bit unnerving being so closely observed by the Prince, but Greg just gulps and hurries to explain.

“I mean- we would have to come up with a little more elaborated story, but if Molly was to come with us, under the pretense that she’s going to finish her medical studies- and well, since she was the one who ‘found’ Abby, it would seem logical-” he gestures vaguely, well aware of Sherlock’s eyes glued on him.

It's a crazy plan. Really, really crazy and most definitely not very sound.

But it might work.

“My brother would be most displeased” Sherlock tells him after a long pause, but he’s smiling, which tells Greg that he couldn’t care less. And if he’s honest with himself, neither does he.

“Forget about him” the guard says. “Think of Abby. Do you- do you think she’d be safe?”

Sherlock considers this long and hard, still hugging his daughter close. “Maybe” he replies after what feels like a lifetime. “If we’re very careful. You’ll be very careful, won’t you, darling?” he asks Abby, his tone solemn despite the clear affection in it.

Abigail observes him keenly, her blue eyes shining with intelligence. She might be very young, but she’s clearly as brilliant as her Omega father.

Or her uncle, if one was inclined to think about that. But Greg isn’t, so-

She nods solemnly, seeming to have perfectly understood Sherlock’s words. The younger male smiles sadly. “You wouldn’t be able to hug me, or be with me long, really. You would have to stay with Aunt Molly at all times and listen to everything she said” he continues seriously and while Greg would normally doubt that a year and a half old child would be able to fully grasp what they’re being told, there’s no doubt in his mind that Abby has perfectly understood her father.

She nods once more.

Sherlock bites his lip, obviously still not fully convinced, but wanting to give it a try. It’s a very dangerous plan and it could end very badly for everyone involved, but if it does work out-

Well, Greg thinks it’d be worth it.

“Alright” Sherlock says finally, nodding his head. “Alright. Get everything ready, will you?” he orders Greg, already back to his bossy self.

With a smile, Greg hurries to comply.

* * *

 

Molly agrees to the plan a bit hesitantly for Abby’s sake, but obviously quite eager to go, the chance of being able to finish her studies making it a very tempting offer. She’s a smart girl and she craves to learn, so she’s really not meant for the life so far away from the Capital.

They start their trip that same night, Greg a little worried by the Queen’s summon. It wouldn’t do to upset her, he knows; if they do she might start looking at things too closely and while she might not have her sons deductive skills, she’s far from being easy to fool.

Especially now, with Abby with them, it’s vital not to drag their Majesties’ attention.

He knows Mycroft will be furious when he finds out and there’ll be hell to pay on that front, but he’s confident that it’s for the best: Sherlock does much better when he has his daughter around and in Greg’s book anything that keeps Sherlock from harming himself is a good thing.

With that thought in mind, he’s ready to face whatever comes his way. It’s his job to keep the Prince safe and he’ll make damn sure that the little not-princess is safe too. In the end, he’s really just doing his job.

Why does he need so many reassurances, then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?   
> I wasn’t planning on having Abigail brought back into the story until much later, but I thought it worked better this way. The main fic isn’t going exactly how I planned it originally to go, so it made sense that the rest of the companion pieces didn’t turn out the way I planned either ;)  
> I shall be updating the main fic tomorrow (unless my boss comes up with some brilliant idea) and well… thanks for reading!


End file.
